Page 8 of Vampire Solstice

I place a hand on Fen’s arm, drawing his attention back to me. “If we’re going to kill it, we need more than stories,” I say, trying to keep my tone calm. “Can you at least show us where the attacks happened? Where it’s been seen?”

Myra’s expression shifts, a flash of something unreadable crossing her face. “You can’t kill it. You have to find a way to break the curse another way. But… if you need to see it, there’s a place,” she says slowly. “Deep in the woods. That’s where it makes its den."

“Can you take us there?” I ask.

She hesitates, her lips parting as if to refuse. But then she nods, her shoulders sagging slightly. “Yes,” she says quietly. “After the ceremony, I’ll take you there.

Fen paces back and forth, his heavy boots thudding across the wooden floor. “Arianna needs a sword. We need warmer clothes. If there’s anything else we can use…”

She nods,her gaze flickering toward the corner of the room where an old chest sits. “There are tools in there,” she says reluctantly. “Blades, traps… things we’ve tried before. I’ll have Micas, the boy you saw last night, fetch you furs.”

Fen strides over to the chest, throwing it open with a single motion. Inside are rusted weapons and broken traps, their edges dulled by time and disuse. He picks up a long blade, testing its weight with a scowl.

“Useless,” he mutters, tossing the blade back into the chest.

“They’re all we have,”Myra says, her voice defensive. “You’re the Midnight Star. Isn’t it your job to protect us? We waited for you. For hundreds of years we waited. Where have you been?”

Her anger rolls over me, turning into waves of sadness. I had no idea these people were trapped here, but it was my duty to learn. How many others are suffering silently under my rule?

“I’m sorry,” I say, stepping forward. “We’ll make do with what we have.”

I look to my husband, my expression encouraging temperance. I hope. “Fen, we have our magic. You have your sword. We’ll take what we can use and figure out the rest later. We’ll scour the forest for tracks–”

“No,” Myra snaps, then looks down meekly, her cheeks flushing red. “You shouldn’t go without a guide. The woods… they change the deeper you go.”

Fen frowns, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean ‘change’?”

Myra glances toward the window, her gaze distant. “The forest isn’t like other places. It’s alive. It shifts, twists. You could walk in circles for days and never find your way out. That’s why some never return.”

A chill runs down my spine. Whatever magic is tied to this place, it’s darker and more dangerous than I realized.

“We will wait for you,” I say.

Myra looks at me, her expression unreadable. For a moment, I think she might say something else, but she turns away, busying herself with preparations for the ritual.

Fen pulls me aside, lowering his voice. “She’s hiding something,” he says.

“I know,” I reply, glancing back at Myra. “But we don’t have time to figure out what. If she can guide us to the den, that’s enough for now.”

Fen doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of preparations. Myra leaves briefly to gather the village for her grandmother’s ceremony, returning with a few villagers who cast wary glances in our direction. They whisper amongst themselves, their fear palpable as they carry the old woman’s body from the house.

Fen and I watch from the doorway as they make their way toward the forest, the silence heavy between us. The storm has eased, but the sky remains dark, the air thick with an unnatural chill.

“She’s scared,”Fen replies, his gaze fixed on the disappearing procession. “Fear makes people reckless.”

I nod, though the unease in my chest only grows. As the villagers vanish into the trees, I can’t help but wonder what Myra isn’t telling us—and what it will cost us when we finally face the beast.

Chapter 4

The Cave

The forest is a labyrinth of gnarled trees and frozen shadows, the ground beneath our boots cracking with frost. The cold bites harder here, more relentless than it was in the village, as if the very woods are alive and determined to drive us back. Myra walks ahead of us, her cloak blending into the pale gray of the storm-worn landscape. She carries a lantern, its faint light casting long, flickering shapes across the snow.

“This path should lead to where the last attack occurred,” Myra says, her voice hardly audible over the hissing of the wind.

I exchange a glance with Fen, gripped by deepening worry . He frowns, his eyes narrowing as he scans for danger.